


Rage

by FFanon



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Grief, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:10:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFanon/pseuds/FFanon
Summary: Frank Castle’s life ended that day in the park. He just exists now. But he exists solely for them.





	Rage

Their screams are only drowned out by his own.

 

Ceramic explodes against the brick wall when he hurls the mug.  His body tense as his roars of pain fill the empty space of the shithole he stays in.

 

When he stops yelling, it’s the sound of his blood violently pulsing through his veins that becomes the new soundtrack over his nightmare of memories.

 

His breathing is harsh and unsteady.  Sweat beads along his hairline and at the nape of his neck.

 

Whipping his head around the small apartment, like a caged animal, his dark eyes choose to focus on the stacked crates of weapons.

 

A loud growl of exertion as he violently pulls the crates down from their tower. As the metal clangs against the floorboards, he’s already found his next target.

 

Stalking over, boots loudly thumping like a heartbeat, he crouches down.  The two wooden pallets that serve as a bed frame, are launched up; his mattress now against the wall.

 

One pallet falls back to the ground with an echoing, deafening slam.

 

His broad chest heaving, the slam rattles him enough to come back to this god-forsaken world. When he does, the wetness on his cheeks finally registers; the hot tears he’s been crying through his rage.

 

He runs a hand through his hair as he steps back, with a slight stumble, until his back hits the wall.

 

Sinking down, knees bent, he feels even more lost than he did a minute ago.  

 

_Without them, what’s the fucking point?_

 

Then he hears them…the screams again…their screams.

 

Vision blurred by tears.

 

Shallow breaths through his parted lips.

 

He brings his hands up, palms pressing against his ears.

 

A useless attempt for silence, he knows that.

 

_Don’t close your eyes_ , he’d think. If he did, he’d watch them die again, clear as fucking day.  

 

But now it no longer matters.

 

Eyes open, through blurred vision, he’s somehow seeing it happen again.  Their bloody faces, the bullets hitting their flesh, the look of absolute fear in his love’s eyes.

 

It no longer matters if he keeps them closed, his nightmare has reached the light.

 

It replays over and over again, their screams filling his ears since that day.

 

Those few minutes it took to destroy his life, now forever a constant in his broken mind.

 

Still he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing harder against his ears, as he lets out the most guttural, anguished yell ever to leave a human body.

 

His body vibrates with every single fucking ounce of pain, anger, and loss that drowns him every day.  All surfacing together in the battle cry of a man now at constant war.

 

When he stops, slowly he finds his focus again.

 

He swipes at his cheeks and instantly stands. With determination on his face, purpose in each step, he straps his vest on and grabs a few guns.

 

The only way to stop seeing them die and to stop hearing their screams is to flood his senses with the deaths and screams of others.

 

 

Of the ones who caused theirs.


End file.
